Who?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

1

I must remember, Martino thought, looking across the office at Colonel Azarin, that the K-Eighty-Eight is not meant to be a bribe. Some people buy the attention of other people by telling them some things. No man is so drab as not to have some personal detail that will intrigue others. I must remember that I can tell Azarin about the time I played hookey from grammar school because I was ashamed to raise my hand to go to the washroom. That is intriguing enough, and will attract enough attention to me. Or I can tell him some back fence gossip — about Johnson, the astrophysicist, for instance, who looks at figure studies in his room at night. That will hold his attention at least until I have exhausted all the details of the story.

I can tell him all these things, and as many more as I can remember, but I must not try to hold his attention by telling him about the K-Eighty-Eight because that is not a proper use of it. I must remember, he thought with infinite patience for clarity’s sake, never to admit I know anything about the K-Eighty-Eight. That is the greatest defense against the urge to gossip — to pretend disinterest when someone comes to you for further details.

“Sit down, Doctor of Science Martino,” Azarin said, smiling pleasantly. “Please be so good.”

Martino felt the answering smile well up through his entire body. He felt the traitor joy begin as a faint surprise that someone had spoken to him at last, and then spread into a great warmth at this man who had called him by name. Not thinking that nothing would show on his face, he trembled with panic at the thought of how easily Azarin was breaking through his defenses. He had hoped to be stronger than this.I must remember to say nothing; he thought, urgently now. If ever I begin, my friendship for this man won’t let me stop. I have to fight to say nothing at all.

“Would you care for a cigarette?” Azarin extended the sandalwood box across the desk. Martino’s right hand was trembling. He reached with his left. The metal fingertips, badly controlled, broke the papyros to shreds.He saw Azarin frown for a moment, and in that moment Martino almost cried out, he was so upset by what he had done to offend this man. But it took an effort to activate the proper vocal affectors in his brain, and his brain detected it and stopped it. I must remember I have other friends, he thought. I must remember that Edith and Barbara will be killed if I please this friend. He realized in a panic that Edith and Barbara were not his friends any longer — that they probably did not remember him — that no one remembered or noticed him or cared about him except Azarin. I must remember, he thought. I must remember to apologize to Edith and Barbara if I ever leave here. I must remember I will leave here.

Azarin was smiling again. “A glass of tea?” I must think about that, he thought. If I take tea, I will have to open my mouth. If I do that, will I be able to close it again? “Don’t be afraid, Doctor of Science Martino. Everything is all right now. We will sit, and we will talk, and I will listen to you.

“He felt himself begi

“Are you playing with me?” Azarin shouted. “What are you doing, behind that face? Are you laughing at me?”

Martino stared at Azarin in surprise. What? What had he done?He could not wonder how long it might take him to complete a train of thought. It did not seem to him that a very long time at all had gone by since Azarin’s last question, or that a man looking at him might see nothing but an implacable, graven-faced figure with a deadly metal arm lying quiet but always ready to crush. “Martino, I did not bring you here for comedies!” Azarin’s eyes suddenly narrowed. Martino thought he saw fear under the anger, and it puzzled him greatly. “Did Rogers plan this? Did he deliberately send you?” Martino began to shake his head, to try to explain. But he caught himself. The thought began to come to him that there was no need to talk to this man — that he had already attracted all of Azarin’s attention.

The telephone rang, with the hard, shrill insistence that always came when the switchboard operator was relaying a call from Novoya Moskva. Azarin picked it up and listened. Martino watched him with no curiosity while Azarin’s eyes opened wide. “Tshort!” Azarin cried, and kicked his chair away from the desk. He put the phone down. Martino still took no notice. Even when Azarin’s shrunken voice muttered, “Your college friend, Heywood, drowned six hundred miles too soon,” Martino had no notion of what it meant.

2

Martino sat motionless in the Tatra as it drew near the border. The SIB man beside him — an Asiatic named Yung — was too quick to interpret every movement as an opening to practice his conversational English. Three months wasted, Martino was thinking. The whole program must be bogged down. I only hope they haven’t tried to rebuild that particular configuration.He searched his mind for the modified system he was almost certain he had thought of in their hospital. He had been trying to bring it back for the past two weeks, while Kothu and a therapist worked on him. But he had not been able to quite grasp it. Several times he thought he had it, but the memory was patchy and useless.Well, he thought as the car stopped, the therapist told me there was bound to be some trouble for a while. But it’ll come to me.

“Here you are, Doctor Martino,” Yung said brightly, unsnapping the door.

“Yes.” He looked out at the gateway, with its Soviet guards. Beyond it, he could see the Allied soldiers, and a car with two men getting out of it. He began to walk toward them. There’ll be no problems, he reminded himself. These people aren’t used to my looks. It’ll take a while to overcome that.But it can be done. A man is something more than just a collection of features. And I’ll get to work soon. That’ll keep me busy. If I can’t remember that idea I had in the hospital, I can always work out something else.It’s been a bad time, he thought, stepping through the gate. But I haven’t lost anything.